The Masochism Tango
by gardapati
Summary: She tastes like salty-tears and open wounds and midwinter night's sky. — Honoka/Umi.


It's nothing out of the ordinary; the flat of her hands against the wall, entrapping Umi in-between, towering, _overpowering_, and suddenly the woman in front of her looks so small, so vulnerable, so, _so, _with her eyes (a dull yellow – why won't they glitter the way they were yesterday _where did the beauty go_) averted to the cold floor and her whole body shivering (it's the cold, it's winter out, after all, and the frost bites and scrapes your skin more than ever today, it's the cold, _it's definitely the cold and not because she's scared and shaken out of her wit, __**not your fault**_) but it's the way her lips hang half-open and half-closed as if the words were stuck there somewhere in her throat and she has tired herself out to even speak them aloud. (_Absolutely not because she's so afraid everything might crumble to dusts this time around because the other time she stays silent and everything turns out alright_.)

The scary thing is, both of them have gotten so used to this already it's like a ritual of sorts, like everything was set from the start – the broken piece of glasses permeating the floor, the puddle of water forming just below her feet, the crumpled papers strewn here and there (notes, or something like that, written: _eggs times ten, milk – Honoka prefers it strawberry-flavored, Honoka broke her toothbrush again better buy a new one before she starts scrubbing her teeth with the toilet scrub_), the kitchen deprived of its homey feeling – the scene is anything but foreign to both of them.

"Umi-chan," she says, as she breathes (_seethes_) daggers, almost a hatred but not quite, and her palms tightens with her knuckles going furious red, "_look at me_," she hisses, quashing down the frustration threatening to be lashed out, because she fears she might break the woman she _truly _loves even more, because she fears everything will go beyond reparable, "talk to _me_."

At last she meets Umi's eyes, both pair contrasting each other like red and blue and the sun and the moon, like dominancy and submissiveness; hers light up in a way the Hell scorches and demons sneer. Umi's are empty and dried out of everything, like sandy dunes.

Umi looks pained and hurt and battered every way imaginable, at least not physically, but it's obvious as heck that she's so torn up were it not for the fact that she has her back against the wall she'd crumble to the floor already, limp and lifeless and lost every of its purpose and it'll be all _her _to blame, the heartless Demoness in disguise with her raging eyes and hurtful, venomous words, going by the name of Kousaka Honoka.

"Honoka, _please_," Umi says, in a hushed voice, fatigued and weary and drained, slowly and carefully, in a thin, hitching wheeze cross whispers, but at least it's something, "let's just, _stop_," She still shivers (from the cold, _it's from the cold, not fear __**it's the cold**_) but her eyes are locked with Honoka's so stubbornly, and somewhere behind the dull yellow there's a small flicker of flame that has yet to be put out, "I trust you," _let's stop before I stopped trusting you_. The last bit wasn't worded out properly, but it's there written all over her face, on her cheeks where traces of trailing tears were left, haunting Honoka to no end.

Honoka herself finds it hard to reply, there's a huge lump in her throat and her insides burn hotter than her eyes and her fists combined, even though it's cold out and the sun is there making out with the moon somewhere beyond the horizon, mocking their crumbling marriage life with sinister laughs in-between the amazing, passionate kisses. It feels like someone set her lungs on fire, like her anger burns her more than she burns the woman she _truly _loves, and an hour later she'll probably ended up all ashes and cinders. What is this feeling?

Self-blame?

She laughs, suddenly, bright, loudly, cheerfully, abnormally happy and she pays next to no heed to Umi who's eyes gone as wide as platters at her sudden outburst. A split-second later, her laughter dissolves into a sob, then a wail, and both of her hands fell limp by her sides and all her strong fronts shattered like her mug of coffee on the floor, and she brings up her hands to her face, desperately wiping the tears and snots away. "I'm sorry," she mutters in a voice so low, muffled by her wrecking sobs, almost a whisper, "I, I – Umi-chan," before she could choke out another incoherent, butchered bits of a sentence she hasn't been able to form, a pair of lips silenced hers, rough and desperate, popping out an obscenely loud smack, and it's finally dawned on her that Umi has, in fact, seized her throat, pulling it close to her, her nails digging deeply like it could tear into her skin, into her throbbing pulses any minute now, and she blearily aware of kissing Umi back and her fists crawl their way into Umi's head, gripping her skull hard she might accidentally yank off a few strands of blue.

By a bystander point of view, they might as well be killing each other; then again the beauty lies in how raw it is, the way they seek warmth out of another. Something fitting for National Geography, _How Leopards Actually Mate: The Unsexy Way _episode.

They exchange some more angry kisses, only parting for a quick breath of inhaling each other, and even though Umi tastes like salty-tears and open wounds and midwinter night's sky, she presses on anyway, because the two of them are still one as a whole and not yet all broken apart, because it's not too late to heal the broken hearts and glue them back into a semblance of love.

It's a relationship pretending to be steady and healthy while it actually is not, but it's alright – today they clawed each other apart. Tomorrow they will go brave against the world once again, hand-in-hand, and they might bicker along the way, sure, and the history will repeat itself for the umpteenth time already and they _might _try to claw each other _again_, and maybe this time it'll last something irreparable no matter how many times they stitch the pieces together –

_But it's alright, I guess_, Honoka hears herself says as she holds the woman she _truly _loves so close, _everything will be alright_.

* * *

**Notes**: [1] ANGRY KISSES ARE HOT. _GAY _ANGRY KISSES ARE HOTTER. Also, I'm sorry.

[2] As much as I love Hono/Umi (like, if it were a man I'd sex it up and marry it) I have always thought a relationship between the two would be…kinda unhealthy, with their heavy contrast in personalities and both being stubborn as rocks.

[3] I'm sorry tbh I wanted to write something light and fluffy and somehow it turned into something like cause I'm a mess right now and I need practice like a lot of it SO! Feel free to request a pairing and a theme and I'll try my best to write it. Any kind of pairing. Be it the usual, everyone's favorite Niko/Maki and Nozo/Eri, or the daring Rin/Maki, or even something unthinkable (but still sexy!) Eri/Kotori. Anything. Just tell me in the review.

[3.5] Concrits greatly appreciated.

[4] **HAPPY BIRTHDAY HONOKA MY NUMERO DOS FAVORITE. I'm sorry but I really, **_**really **_**love seeing you suffer to the moon and back**_._


End file.
